Personal Matters
by ohlawsons
Summary: After the mess that is the mission on Tatooine, Davri tries making friends. Jorgan refuses to cooperate.


Jorgan was about three minutes from leaving the noisy cantina for the ship when he realized the lieutenant was nowhere in sight.

Sohms had a habit of disappearing whenever they had a rare night off, as likely to be hooking up with someone as she was to be a few thousand credits into a back room sabaac game. It was… far from the worst an officer could get up to.

That didn't mean Jorgan approved.

Still, they were planning to head out first thing the next morning — _finally_ leaving this miserable dustball of a planet, which was less of a mercy than it might've been, considering their next destination — and it wasn't like Sohms to run off before a trip. She liked the people in cantinas, she said. Lots of faces and names and voices to break up the coming monotony of being on a ship with the same few people for upwards of a week.

It made sense, in the way that some things only made sense when Sohms said them.

But Sohms had been… _unsatisfied_ was the only word that came to Jorgan's mind to describe the lieutenant's reaction to the latest mission. She'd claimed that Fuse's death was unavoidable, that even if she could've saved him he would've ended up dead anyway. Sohms hadn't seemed very certain of her own words, though.

It was possible, Jorgan supposed, that Sohms had simply returned to the ship early.

Or not. He wasn't responsible for her.

Still, the thought that he would be the last one returning to the ship after a night out was an odd one — and it wasn't even a _night_ out, more like a late afternoon. He shook his head; it had been one hell of a long day, and getting some relative peace and quiet sounded like a pretty good idea.

As Jorgan was walking back towards the spaceport, he found Sohms sitting on a low ridge just beyond the entrance, staring out past Anchorhead into the endless desert. "Lieutenant?"

Without looking up, she waved him over. "Ever hear the one about the cathar and mirialan on Tatooine?" she asked, voice barely audible between the distance and the ever-present wind. Glancing back, Sohms finished, "They were both fucking miserable, because Tatooine only exists to make people suffer."

"That's a good one, sir." She wouldn't get any arguments from Jorgan. Even with one of the suns beginning to dip below the horizon, it was _hot_. The deep green of Sohms' skin was flushed, and sweat dripped across her face and Jorgan wondered just how long she'd been sitting out here. She gave the ground beside her a small pat, and Jorgan almost declined but gave in and sat beside her after a moment.

Maybe he could convince her to go back inside; there was no telling how overheated or dehydrated she might've been.

"You know, Sergeant," she began, using that tone she only used when she had a point to make, the one that so often found a way to get under Jorgan's skin, "we've been working together for almost seven months, and I don't think we've ever once had a real conversation."

They'd had _plenty_ of conversations over seven months, and Jorgan wasn't sure he wanted to know what Sohms considered a _real_ conversation. "I'm fairly certain this counts as one."

"Maybe. But do you ever think about how much we talk about work? The military? Tavus?" Sohms shrugged, glancing up at Jorgan with a single eyebrow raised. "I don't know one damn thing about your personal life. And I'll bet you don't know anything about mine."

Not _entirely_ true. Sohms was too… animated to keep much of her personal life under wraps. Jorgan knew she had a brother. Knew the names of at least a half dozen people she'd either slept with or had relationships with. Knew she drank her caf with just a bit of milk because that's how her mother always made it. Knew she only finished her training as a field medic because she thought it would impress her superiors. Knew she started and ended every workout with push-ups because of something to do with a girl she'd wanted to impress as a teenager.

"Every single sock you own looks exactly the same," Jorgan pointed out, as proof in some unspoken challenge, "because you think it makes it harder to tell when you've lost one doing laundry." He mentally prepared himself for her inevitable rant — _but where do they_ go _? why is it only_ socks _that go missing?_ — that came whenever anyone brought up the subject or she was forced into laundry duty.

But she simply nodded. "Okay, yeah, I'll give you that. It's not really a secret though, is it?"

"You listen to Backstreet Bith when you think no one can hear."

Sohms frowned at him, but her glare was somewhat offset by the smile she was fighting to hold back. "See? We'll be friends in no time, Jorgan."

"Respectfully, sir, I don't think so." There was a lightness to his response, not teasing but far from serious, even though inwardly Jorgan knew it was the truth. Things might have been somewhat more relaxed at the moment, but as soon as their focus turned back to the mission, the casualness would dissipate. Sohms would continue to go a bit too far, and Jorgan would continue to wonder how far was too far for him.

They fell back into silence, and Jorgan found his mind wandering back towards the mission. They'd shut down the Imperials, saved most of Anchorhead, and stopped another one of the Havoc traitors. And yet something didn't sit quite right with him.

It was Fuse. More specifically, how Sohms had treated him. She'd been nothing but calm and understanding, consistently reassuring Fuse that she'd do her best to get him out of there, work out _something_ with command for him. Then they'd arrived at the base, and when she'd had to choose between saving the former lieutenant and chasing down the colonel, she'd acted as if there was only one possibility.

She'd never intended to follow through on any of her promises, and that left Jorgan uncomfortable.

"You weren't ever planning on letting him live, were you?" Jorgan asked, gaze still fixed on the horizon and knowing there was no need to clarify, even for such an out of the blue question.

Sohms shrugged. "I wouldn't be a very good soldier if I sympathized with everyone who showed a little regret." She fidgeted a bit, as if there was something more she had to say, but no more words came.

"And if it weren't for the base…?" He left the end of the sentence open, both he and the lieutenant well aware of his intended question. There wasn't really much use in debating hypotheticals, and Jorgan was sure he knew Sohms well enough to guess that she would've cut Fuse down without hesitation, just as she had with the others. He didn't take issue with the former Havoc members getting the fate they deserved, but neither would he let that interfere with his duty.

And there was something unsettling about Sohms sometimes, when she talked about the mission. Like there was far more at stake.

Sohms stretched her legs out in front of her, leaning back to rest on her hands. Instead of the quick answer Jorgan had expected, he was met with a thoughtful _hmm_ and a silence that stretched out for several more moments. "Maybe," she said finally.

"Maybe?"

"I've been doing a lot of thinking about traitors lately. Defections." She tilted her head back a bit and the twin sunset gave her hazel eyes a golden sort of glint. "Like why anyone would do it."

Jorgan had a creeping suspicion this conversation was taking a turn into that _personal_ territory Sohms had mentioned — that hadn't escaped him, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. "You've been speaking with Sergeant Dorne," he guessed, keeping his tone level and professional. Almost disinterested, when he was anything but; Sohms and Dorne had taken to spending long evenings together, sometimes in the medbay, sometimes in the crew quarters, sometimes in the kitchen, always talking in low voices and neither looking entirely comfortable with whatever topic they were discussing.

"My mom lives on Alderaan," Sohms revealed suddenly, head swiveling so she could look directly at Jorgan. "My mom and my step dad. He left the Empire about…" She paused, lips pursing. There was a softness in her expression, something Jorgan didn't ever imagine he'd think about the lieutenant. _Soft_. "It was about twenty five years ago, I guess. Left a job and a wife and friends. All he had was a year old son and a bunch of angry Imps trailing him."

He wasn't entirely sure what to say to that. "He left with an infant?"

Probably not the best response.

But Sohms gave a quiet laugh. "Yeah. It's a long story." Her laugh trailed off, and that thoughtful expression returned. "It's just… Elara was telling me about the way her family and friends reacted when she left, and I guess I never thought about what it would mean to leave. I mean, I spent years pissed off at the guy for marrying my mom just because he was born in the Empire, but never once did I think about what he left behind."

There was a pause, but Jorgan wasn't certain it was a silence that needed to be filled. Sohms seemed to be half lost in whatever memories she was reminiscing about, and he was still stubbornly _not_ discussing personal matters with his lieutenant.

"I forgave him," she continued quietly. "Years ago. Just never told him."

"Will this interfere with the mission?" The words came out sharp, demanding, when Jorgan had meant for them to be more reassuring. Supportive.

Sohms gave him a sidelong glance, the corners of her lips quirking upwards in an amused grin. "Why do you think I keep you around? You'll keep me on the straight and narrow if I lose my focus."

"That's not an answer." There — he managed _supportive_ that time.

"That's because I don't have one." There was no hesitance in Sohms' answer. "But when I have one, you'll be the first to know." After another moment of silence, she gave Jorgan a light nudge with her elbow. "I think we just became friends, Sergeant."

He didn't bother arguing this time. "Let's just get you out of this heat, Lieutenant."


End file.
